


In Your Favour

by acariad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acariad/pseuds/acariad
Summary: “Ladies first!” she said in a sing-song voice, and plunged her hand into the bowl filled with paper. She swirled her hand around for a moment, before pulling out a tiny slip. Everyone seemed to draw in a breath, and the silence was so loud Sansa felt sick. Please don’t be me, she chanted over and over in her head.





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> The Hunger Games AU that no one asked for but HECK I'M GONNA WRITE IT ANYWAY. I don't think I need to say too much here, it's totally alternate universe, Ned and Robb are dead, It's gonna stick pretty closely to the THG book. And yes, it's a Jonsa fic. Sansa is seventeen in this, and Jon is eighteen. Arya is fifteen. 
> 
> There's no Jon in this first chapter but dw, he'll show up in the next one :D
> 
> An accompanying giftset for your viewing pleasure as well: http://sardoniyx.tumblr.com/post/150394289591/jonsa-aus-the-hunger-games-sansa-as-katniss
> 
>  
> 
> ENJOY~!

Sansa jerked awake with a gasp and instinctively felt the other side of the bed. The sheets were cold, and she glanced around in alarm before she spied Arya’s form, curled around Nymeria on a blanket on the floor. No noise from the other room, where mother and Bran and Rickon slept. Relief filled her only for a moment, and then she remembered why she had woken so suddenly: today was the day of the reaping.  

Knowing she won’t be able to get any more sleep, Sansa swung her legs off the bed and slid into her boots, tying her hair into a quick braid before slipping into her shirt and pants and grabbing her forage bag. At least she will make use of the time she has. She decided that she’ll only head out for a few hours at most, enough to get some extra food to supplement the meats. She was still practising with the bow, and while she was getting better every day, it was still Arya who brought in most of the kills that kept them fed.  So Sansa did what she could, by foraging for the rest – fruits, nuts, whatever herbs she could find to help out with her mother’s patients.  It wasn’t much, but between her and Arya, they managed to keep the family fed, even the dogs as well. She felt a pang of misery as she remembered Lady, who had been killed by one of the Peacekeepers. It was one less mouth to feed, but she missed that dog deeply. She slipped a piece of bread into her pocket, gave Nymeria a quick pat to which she responded with a brief tail wag, and slipped outside. She quickly tucked her braid into a dull cap as she set off. She didn’t want it to stand out, especially where she was going.  

The streets were empty this early morning, the silence settling in around her. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and even at this hour normally, the Seam would be crawling with coal miners. Today the shutters on the grey houses were closed. The reaping wasn’t until two, so most people would be sleeping in. At least, those who could.

Sansa was always glad that their house was almost at the edge of the Seam. There were only a few gates to pass before reaching the Meadow, and the fence. In theory, the chain link fence topped with barbed wire should be electrified twenty-four hours a day, but District 12 was lucky to even get a few hours of electricity in the evenings. Still, she listened carefully for the hum that meant the fence was live. Right now, it was silent, so Sansa quickly dropped to her stomach and slid under a two foot stretch of loose fence that had been hidden by a clump of bushes. If she was quick, she can check the usual spots and hopefully make it back before Arya woke up.

Robb had taught her how to find food. Back then there was Robb and her father, and even though there were more mouths, it was still better. And then the mine explosion. There wasn’t anything left of her father to bury. The only thing they had left was a bow, a beautiful thing that would’ve gotten them plenty of gold, but if the officials found out the penalty would’ve been a public execution. And then Robb was caught trying to go hunting with the bow by someone that shouldn't have seen him. The Peacekeepers never found the weapon, but it was enough for Robb to disappear and never to be seen again. Arya had already started learning from Robb back then, but it took Sansa a few years before she even considered it. She wasn’t a bad shot by any means, but Arya was still better.

Sansa checked the hollow where the bow was hidden, making sure that nothing had been disturbed before moving on. Only foraging today, so she had better get started. She began moving through the woods, checking all the usual spots for edible roots and fruits, and managed almost a bag of greens. She stumbled upon a patch of wild strawberries which she gathered up quickly, thanking the gods for her luck. She had also managed to gather a heap of berries from some bushes lower down the hill when a twig snapped behind her. She whirled around, her heart ready to leap out of her throat. If she was caught, then there would be no escaping the lashes. Most Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the hunting and foraging because they were as hungry as the rest of them, but they would have no choice but to punish someone if caught red-handed.  

She nearly cried in relief when Gendry’s face peered out from behind one of the trees. She should’ve guessed he’d be out here. His family was even bigger than hers, and he and Arya were inseparable, always out hunting together.

“Hey Sansa,” he began awkwardly. Sansa exhaled and frowned.

“You scared me out of my wits,” she scowled, tucking the rest of the berries into her bag. Arya might like him, but Sansa doesn’t trust him completely. Still, if they were both out here, it meant they were on the same side in the end so she couldn’t really complain.

“Sorry, thought it might’ve been Arya, y’know?” Gendry at least had the decency to look sheepish as he scratched his head. Sansa sniffed a little. He reminded her so much of Arya, the way he moved. It wasn’t surprising since they were as thick as thieves, but it still startled Sansa a little every time she saw him. And it wasn’t just his mannerisms, it was also his looks. Dark hair, tanned skin, he resembles Arya more than Sansa ever did. Most of the families who work the mines look like one another this way. Sansa was the only one in the family to completely take after her mother, with her red hair and blue eyes, and probably why she had always felt a little out of place.

Catelyn Stark’s parents were a part of the small merchant class in District 12 that caters to the Peacekeepers, the officials and the occasional Seam customer. They had run an apothecary in the nicer part of the district, and since no one can afford doctors, apothecaries were the next best option. That’s how her mother met her father, selling his collected herbs to her shop to brew her remedies. And she had left her home for the Seam, to be with him. Sometimes Sansa couldn’t help but resent her a little for the life her mother had chosen for her and the rest of her siblings. But she couldn’t deny that her parents loved each other dearly.

“Arya might be coming a little later,” Sansa eventually replied, dusting off her hands. “I’m just here for foraging.”

“Oh, I see…” he trailed off, and Sansa finally noticed the large package he had in his hands. He turned it over once, hesitated, before thrusting it into her hands.

“This was meant for Arya, but you’re family and she’ll probably be sharing it with you tonight anyway after…, y’know, the reaping.”

The reaping. Sansa felt her throat close as she thought of how many slips she had in that stupid glass bowl. When it got too hard to feed everyone, especially during winter, she had taken out tesserae. It was the one thing she had fought Arya on, refusing to let her put in her name for more food. Bran hadn’t had to either, and Rickon thank lord was too young for the reaping yet. Still, if they managed to get out of this one, there’ll be celebrations tonight, for those whose children had been spared for another year.

Sansa slowly unfolded a bit of the brown paper, and gasped. It was a huge load of bread, and fresh from the looks of it. The smell was wonderful, and the bread was still warm. She glanced up at Gendry.

“How did you get this?” she half demanded, frightened of the answer. Gendry frowned at her tone, but shrugged.

“I didn’t steal it. Traded it for a squirrel. The baker was feeling sentimental this morning, I think. Even wished me luck.”

Sansa closed her mouth, feeling her face flush a little. She could tell he was offended by her insinuation, but she had to be careful. She didn’t want to take the blame if the loaf was stolen.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and tucked the loaf into her bag. “Thank you. Arya will be happy.”

He seemed to perk up a little at that, and flashed her a smile.

“Well, I better get going, still got more stuff to catch. Send Arya my way, alright?”

“Of course,” Sansa said, and checked over her bags one last time before turning to head back.

“By the way,” Gendry’s voice stopped her, and she turned back towards him. “Just wanted to say, good luck for the reaping.”

Sansa paused. He was a year older than her, and it was his final year. She still had another to go after this, and the number of slips with her name on it was too high for her comfort. And from what she gathered from listening to Arya talk, Gendry must have way more names than her in the bowl.

“You too,” she said finally with a small smile, and began heading back in the direction of the fence.

 

\---

 

She swung by the mayor’s on her way home, knowing that she could get a good price on the strawberries. The mayor has a fondness for them, and he could afford her prices. The mayor’s daughter Jeyne opened the door, and she smiled at Sansa. They were pretty good friends at school, and they would always take lunch together, chatting about something or another. Today her drab school outfit was replaced by a pristine white dress, and her hair was done up in an intricate braid. Just another reminder. Reaping clothes.

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Sansa says, eyeing the lace trimmings on the sleeves. She wondered how much that dress cost. Jeyne did a little twirl and lifted her arms with a smile.

“Well if I end up going to King’s Landing, I want to look nice, don’t I?”

Sansa gave her a thin smile, trying to hide her uncharitable feelings. She wanted to point out that Jeyne won’t be going to King’s Landing. How could she, the mayor’s daughter? At maximum she would have the five entries that everyone would have at the age of seventeen. Sansa thought of Robb, and how much of a miracle it was when he was never called out at the reaping. He had over thirty entries by the time he was gone. Not that he escaped death anyway.  Sansa’s eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorned Jeyne’s dress. Real gold. Beautifully crafted. It would keep her family fed for months. It was moments like these that Sansa almost hated her.  

As if sensing her feelings, Jeyne’s face dropped and became closed off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” She trailed off and fell silent.

“It’s not your fault,” Sansa said softly, even though she cursed the unfairness of the system. That was how it worked. The poor got the worst of it, and it was hard not to resent those who didn’t have to take out the tesserae. Jeyne placed the berry money in her hand, and gave her a sad look.

“Good luck, Sansa.”

“You too.”

The door closed behind her as she walked away.  

 

\---

 

At home, she found Arya with her clothes on already, pulling her boots on. It was still fairly early in the morning, and they had a few hours left before Arya needed to come back to get ready. She grinned at Sansa’s haul, and salivated over the bread.

“I need to thank him,” Arya commented as she headed out, Nymeria trailing after her. “I’ll be back soon!”

And with little else to do, Sansa drew herself a tub of warm water, and began scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from her early trek. Catelyn moves into the room a little later, already having prepared what Sansa had brought back into a quick meal for her and her two younger brothers. Arya normally had her share out hunting anyway. She smiled at Sansa, and beckoned to her as she dried off.

“I have a surprise for you,” Catelyn stated as Sansa followed her into her room. On the bed, a lovely blue dress with matching shoes was laid out. Sansa gasped softly. She almost didn’t care that it was for the reaping. It was one of her mother’s old dresses that she had been eyeing for some time. The clothes from her past were very precious to her, and Sansa knew this was something special.

"Is this for me?"

“Of course,” Catelyn smiled. “Let’s put your hair up.”

They spent the next few hours getting ready, even Rickon who wore his best shirt and pants. Even Arya who came back later with armfuls of fish and squirrels was stuffed into one of Sansa’s old reaping outfits. She complained the entire way to the square that the dress didn’t sit right, until Bran punched her in the shoulder and told her to shut up.

As they drew closer though, the noise died down as people file silently to sign in. Sansa, Arya and Bran all line up and were herded into roped areas marked off by ages. Her mother and Rickon moved off to the sides, where family members stood, and Sansa found herself towards the front in a group of seventeens from the Seam. The camera crews were already filming, and everyone was too tense to acknowledge each other. Sansa stared grimly at the podium where two large glass bowls were standing. One for the boys, and one for the girls. She had nearly twenty slips in the girl’s bowl. It didn’t seem to matter how much she told herself that twenty in a thousand slips was nothing – she still felt the sense of dread filling her the same as it had every year.    

Two of the three chairs on the podium are filled with Jeyne’s father, Mayor Poole, and Myranda Royce, District 12’s escort, fresh from King’s Landing in the south with her garish makeup, pink hair and spring green suit. They were murmuring to themselves and glancing worriedly at the empty seat.

Still, when the clock rang for two o’clock, the mayor got out of his seat and began the speech that Sansa has heard every year. He tells the history of Westeros, the Districts, and the beginning of the Hunger Games. He then reads out the list of past District 12 victors. There were two ever, and only one is still alive. Jorah Mormont, a paunchy middle aged man staggered onto the stage and collapses into the third chair, clearly drunk and attempted to hug Myranda Royce, which she barely managed to fend off. There is a token applause from the crowd, but Sansa knew that they were being filmed at this very minute, and right now District 12 is the laughing stock of the rest of Westeros.

The mayor, looking very distressed, quickly turns the attention back towards Myranda Royce, who had extracted herself from Jorah’s grip and trotted over to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!” Her bright and bubbly voice rang out across the square, completely out of place among the sea of grim faces. The woman began to go on about how much of a honour it was to be there, but everyone knew Myranda Royce hated being assigned to 12. Sansa began tuning out at this moment, shifting on her feet and glancing through the crowd. She couldn’t see Arya or Bran, but she knew they would be okay. They only had three and two slips each. Still, she wished that she could at least stand with her siblings. Whether it was more for her comfort or theirs, she didn’t know. But at least then she’d be with family. Her attention was pulled back as Myranda Royce trotted over to one of the glass bowls. It was time for the drawing.

“Ladies first!” she said in a sing-song voice, and plunged her hand into the bowl filled with paper. She swirled her hand around for a moment, before pulling out a tiny slip. Everyone seemed to draw in a breath, and the silence was so loud Sansa felt sick. _Please don’t be me_ , she chanted over and over in her head.

Myranda Royce walked back to the centre of the podium, smoothed out the slip of paper, and read out the name.

“Arya Stark!”


	2. The Baker's Boy

Sansa forgot how to breathe. _No_ , she thought as the name bounced around in her skull. _It can’t be_. She faintly registers someone gripping her arm, another girl from the Seam, supporting her weight. _Oh, I must have started to fall._

All she could think was that this was a mistake. Hadn’t she forbidden Arya to take any tesserae? Not that Arya listened to her usually, but she was sure that this was one of those moments where Arya had seen how serious she was about it. She wouldn’t have, would she? Because how else could Sansa explain that three slips out of thousands would be the one that lands her sister in the games? Hadn’t she done everything she could to make sure this wouldn’t happen?

Sansa glanced around numbly, hearing the crowd murmur. Most of them knew her sister, she was sure. How many of them ate her kills? Arya always traded her wares at the Hob, and practically everyone went there, and aside from Gendry, not many people risked heading out beyond the fence to get game.

Sansa saw her then, her face pale but determined, her hands clenched at her sides, walking towards the stage with stiff strides. Sansa felt faint. She stared at Arya, dressed in her old reaping clothes, and the only thing she could think of was how young she looked. And then the panic set in.

How will they feed themselves? All she could do was forage mostly and they can’t live off that. She was a decent shot but she couldn’t bag enough game to sell. People wanted clean kills, and Sansa never managed to get the arrow straight through the eyes, unlike Arya. Clean kills meant more money, but even then Sansa had to take out the tesserae. Without her sister, they’d starve again. Just like after father and Robb passed away.

What about Gendry? He and Arya would never admit it, but Sansa wasn’t blind. They liked each other. _They could have a future together,_ Sansa realised dully. And if her sister goes to King’s Landing, chances are she’ll never come back. The family _needed_ her here. Gendry needed her. _And I need her_ , Sansa realised with a painful swallow. It was that thought that brought her back to her senses, and back to the reality of what was happening.

“Arya!” The strangled cry left her throat, and Sansa began pushing her way through the crowd towards her sister. The other Seam kids seemed to realise what was happening, and stepped aside to let her through. Arya turned towards the sound of her voice, her face filled with fear and confusion. Her steps faltered as she stared at Sansa running towards her.  

“Sansa?”

With a lunge Sansa pulled her sister back behind her, stared at the horrifying ugly wig that was perched on Myranda Royce’s head, and spoke.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

Perhaps she had gone crazy. There was a moment of blankness in her mind before it registered what had come out of her mouth. The crowd around her fell dead silent. The word _tribute_ was pretty much synonymous with the word _corpse_ , so volunteers were all but extinct. And Sansa had just signed her own death sentence.

“What?” Arya’s screech hit her, and Sansa felt her sister’s hand latch onto her arm painfully. Sansa felt numb, but she refused to take her gaze away from Myranda.

Arya, let go,” she said, trying to hide how hysterical she actually felt. Arya ignored her, still tugging at her arm, seemingly trying to drag Sansa back into the crowd of Seam kids.

“What are you doing? Have you gone insane?” Her voice getting louder and louder. Her voice echoed around the square in the silence. All Sansa could think about was how her sister was making a fool of herself. Didn’t she know that when they show the televised replay tonight, everyone will see her screaming? People will laugh. 

“You’re going to _die_ , you stupid, _stupid_ –”

Arya’s voice was cut off suddenly and Sansa looked behind her in alarm, only to see Gendry with his hand clamped over her sister’s mouth, face grim as he stared at her.

“Go on,” he said, “I’ve got her.”

It was all Sansa could do to nod and turn her face towards the stage again as Gendry half-dragged Arya away. Her sister was still kicking her legs, muffled yells still coming from under Gendry’s hand. Sansa steeled herself. _I must be brave._ It seemed at this point, Myranda Royce had recollected herself too, and her face was alight with enthusiasm as she gazed down at Sansa.

“Oh, isn’t this marvellous folks? A volunteer from District 12! I mean, while I do believe there’s a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, but this one clearly has the enthusiasm for the Games!” She beckoned towards her, and Sansa found herself walking up the stairs to stand next to the garish woman. Behind Myranda Royce, she could see the face of the mayor, his eyes looking pained. Sansa knew he doesn’t really know her, but he recognised her. She was the girl who sold him the strawberries, and she was the girl who was friends with his daughter. He had the same look on his face five years ago when he presented her, the oldest surviving child, with a medal for valour. A medal for her father, vaporised in the mines. _Does he remember Robb too?_ Sansa wondered.

“Well, bravo!” Myranda Royce’s voice brought Sansa back to the present. “So tell me, what is your name?”

Sansa swallowed. “Sansa Stark,” she muttered.

“Well Sansa, I bet my buttons that was your sister, wasn’t it? Didn’t want her to steal all the glory now, did we? Come on everybody! How about a big round of applause to our new tribute!” Myranda’s shrill voice echoed across the square.

Not a single person claps. There was just silence coming from all directions, and grim faces staring at her. Sansa knew that no one really knew who she was. But they probably knew her sister. Beyond that, they knew that she had done what most people would never do, not even for their loved ones. No one wanted to be in the games. So they stayed silent. And their silence spoke volumes.

_We do not agree. We do not condone. This is wrong._

Sansa saw movement out in the crowd, and when she realised what was happening, she was truly in danger of losing what remained of her control to not burst into tears. One after another, people in the crowd touched the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, and held it towards her. It meant goodbye to someone you love. Sansa hadn’t seen this gesture in years and years, and it was only ever used at funerals. Before the tears could leak, a waft of alcohol drew near and it was at this moment that Jorah had staggered across the stage, slung his arm around Sansa and pointed at the crowd.

“Look at her! Look at this one!” he hollered, and Sansa struggled a little under the weight of his arm. “She’s got more guts than all of you! All of you!” At this point he was shouting, pointing directly at a camera. Sansa wanted to hide. The cameras were pointed directly at them, and she was definite that Jorah was mad drunk right now, or at least drunk enough to taunt the audience in King’s Landing. It seemed a small miracle when he released her and fell over off the stage, knocking himself unconscious.  

Sansa, even through her dread, wrinkled her nose in disgust. However, Jorah’s little antics had every camera trained on him right now, and for that she could be a little grateful. It gave her a few precious moments to collect herself, and to will the tears back so that they would not fall.

Jorah is whisked away on a stretcher, and at this point Myranda Royce attempted to get the show back on track. She titters around the stage, with exclamations of how exciting everything was today. Sansa just stared right ahead into the crowd, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. Before she knew it Myranda was stepping up to the other bowl on the stage, the one with the boy’s names in tiny slips inside.

There was only a moment for Sansa to hope that Gendry wasn’t chosen so that her stupid move wasn’t completely wasted, and then Myranda was reading the name.

“Jon Snow.”

 _No_ , Sansa thought as she stared aghast at the boy walking through the crowd to the stage. He had an air of grim finality about him, but Sansa could see that under the calm face, the shock of the moment was still getting to him. She hadn’t talked to him in years. Not since Robb disppeared. Her brother and Jon used to be thick as thieves, and Arya loved him, and of course that meant Sansa had never approved of Jon. It didn’t matter that he looked every bit Seam as the rest of her family, she knew that he got lucky when they didn’t. And now… She swallowed hard as she watched him make his way up the stairs. She would have to kill him to get home.

Myranda Royce asked for volunteers, but of course, no one stepped forward. Sansa felt a twinge of pity. She shouldn’t have expected anyone to volunteer for him. There were no other children in his family. Jon stood staring emotionlessly out towards the crowd, and a part of her felt that she should probably do that too but she couldn’t stop looking at him. The mayor had started to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year, but Sansa wasn’t listening to a single word.

All she could think about were the loaves of bread left on their door step every day for nearly a year before Sansa and Arya had begun to feed the rest of the family. They had been running out of money and between the five mouths in the house, they were slowly but surely dying. There’s no other way to put it. It had been a nearly a year since father passed, and with Robb gone Sansa had been desperate. She had already taken five tesserae, the maximum that year. And then the bread came.

She knew that it had been Jon. Of course it had been. He’s the baker’s son. Who else would have access to that bread? But there was no proof, and she had never liked him, and acknowledging that he kept them alive meant that she had to admit that she owed him. Her whole family owed him. It doesn’t help now, them standing on the stage next to each other. Maybe if she had just said thank you at some point… But no, she can’t now. They’re going to be thrown into an arena and forced to fight each other to the death. A thank you at this point felt useless.

The mayor finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions towards her and Jon. She quickly shuffled forward and gripped his hands in a handshake, trying not to stare too hard. Jon looked her right in the eye, and all she could see was the sadness on his face as he squeezed her fingers. His hands are warm, and a little rough. Sansa dropped his hand quickly and turned back to face the crowd, her cheeks burning. Was it shame? Perhaps. She couldn’t tell. The anthem of Westeros played in the background as they looked out over the sea of people.

 _It’s okay_ , she thought. _There will be twenty-four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before we even see each other in the arena_.

Somehow, that thought gave her no comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this week has been hectic. and next week will be as well. hopefully you guys liked this one, and please let me know what else you want to see in the story!


	3. Goodbyes

The moment the anthem ended, Sansa and Jon were escorted by the Peacekeepers through the front door of the Justice Building. Sansa had a wild moment of thought. She could make a break for it. But no. One look at the guns and batons at the belts of the Peacekeepers stopped her. She didn’t want to die. Not yet. She risked a look towards Jon, but he was mostly hidden by the bodies of the Peacekeepers between them.

Once inside, she was led to a room and left alone. Sansa took this moment to look around. The walls were made from a deep rich coloured wood, and the floor was covered in a thick red carpet. Even the chair which she was perched on was made from velvet. Sansa only knew what it was from one of her mother’s old dresses. It had a velvet collar, and she remembered sneaking into her mother’s room to feel the texture of the fabric. She couldn’t help but run her hands over the arms of the chair as she tried to calm herself. At least she has time to say goodbye to her family. She couldn’t afford to cry, not now. There will be cameras at the station, and if they see her crying it will mean that the other tributes will see it too. No. Her mother didn’t cry, not after father’s death, or Robb’s disappearance. _I must as strong as mother_.

After a few minutes, Sansa heard footsteps outside and stood up out of the seat, and then suddenly a small shape burst through the door. She staggered slightly as a crying Rickon collided with her legs, followed by Bran and her mother. Arya was nowhere in sight. Sansa swallowed hard and pulled Rickon into her lap as she sat down again with him, and began muttering nonsense to try and calm him down. Bran, to his credit, did not cry, but he was still pale as he slowly sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. Catelyn Stark just stared down at her daughter, a fiercely proud look on her face.

“Oh my darling,” she murmured, and Sansa could feel her throat closing up with the effort not to cry. She promised she wouldn’t. Catelyn sat down on her other side, and stroked a hand over the intricate braids over Sansa head. “I am so proud of you.”

Sansa couldn’t say anything, so she simply nodded. What was there to say? She didn’t want to say goodbye. She wanted to go home to their dogs and the tiny house where they lived.

“It’s okay,” Sansa began slowly, still rocking Rickon back and forth. “Arya and Gendry will keep you all fed, and it’ll be easier with one less mouth.”

She began to ramble, telling Bran that he wasn’t to take the tesserae, and that between her mother’s apothecary business and Arya’s hunting, they will get by. She did tell Bran about the book of herbs and plants she kept in her room, and that he should begin to learn how to scavenge too. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Arya was still nowhere in sight, and her time with her family was quickly running dry.

“We’ll be okay Sansa,” Bran said, his hand still gripping hers tightly. “Don’t worry about us. You need to take care too. You’re fast and you know things. Maybe you can win.”

Sansa tried to smile at the hope in his voice, but inside she felt her heart sink. She couldn’t win. Surely they knew that. In some districts, winning was a huge honour. Kids from those districts who trained their whole lives for this, how could she possibly go up against them? Boys who were two or three times her size. Girls who knew how to kill her in twenty different ways. All she could do was find some stupid plants and shoot a bow with below average skill. And there will be others like her. The ones to weed out before the real competition begins.

“Perhaps,” she said softly. “And then we will be as rich as Jorah.” All victors get to live in a place called the Victor’s Village, which is completely empty except for Jorah’s house. But they were proper houses, not the shack that they lived in now. She entertained the thought for a moment.

“Don’t need to be rich. We just want you to come home,” Bran said quietly. Rickon looked up at her and tugged her collar.

“Come home Sansa?”

“I’ll try Rickon,” She mustered a smile.

And then the Peacekeeper was at the door, signalling that their time was up. Arya still hasn’t shown. Sansa hugged everyone, muttering how much she loved them over and over. And then the door closed, and Sansa was alone again. She buried her face into one of the velvet pillows, trying not to think of the fact that that was probably the last time she would see her family.

Someone else entered the room, and Sansa looked up. Gendry was standing at the door, his hands clutched around a small parcel. Sansa doesn’t pretend to smile for him. She just motioned wearily towards the other chair in the room, and Gendry sat down awkwardly. He as silent for a moment.

“Arya ran away,” he began, not meeting her eye. “I tried to stop her, but you know how fast she is.”

Sansa nodded. She shouldn’t be surprised. Still, she wanted to say goodbye. Arya. She might never see her again, and the last thing she said was her calling her stupid. Arya was right though. She was stupid. She wondered if her sister went to say goodbye to Jon.

Gendry was silent as he handed the package to her, and Sansa opened it stiffly. Inside were cookies, their colour soft yellow and dusted with sugar. It was the second time today that Gendry had given her something, although the bread was meant for her whole family. This? It was a luxury they could never afford.

“Why?”

“I was saving it. But you need it more than me or Arya.” He was awkward, and he refused to meet her eye, but Sansa could tell that he was trying to say thank you. For volunteering to die in the arena instead of her sister. So she nodded and wrapped up the cookies in the paper and tucked it into her dress pocket. And then they both sat silently, unable to say anything else until a Peacekeeper opened the door.

Before he left, Gendry turned, and said “I’ll feed them, don’t worry.”

And then he was gone too. Sansa felt some of the pressure lift off her chest at his words. She hadn’t liked him, but he was good. She knew that if he said it, he would keep his word. Her family will be alright. Before she could prepare herself, another guest entered the room. Sansa blinked. It was Jeyne. The mayor’s daughter walked straight to her, and Sansa is shocked to see the urgency on her face.

“They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Sansa, please… would you wear this?” Jeyne holds out the circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. Sansa hadn’t paid attention to it before, but she could see that it was a small bird in flight, the tips of its wings anchoring it to the gold circle.

“Your pin?” Sansa asked in confusion. A token was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

“Here, I’ll put it on your dress, all right?” Jeyne seemed almost impatient as she leaned in and fixed the bird to Sansa’s dress. She hadn’t asked for permission, but Sansa hadn’t the heart to stop her.

 “Promise you’ll wear it into the arena, Sansa?” she asked fiercely. “Promise?”

Sansa could only nod her consent. Cookies. A pin. She was getting all sorts of gifts today. And then Jeyne gave her another, a brief kiss on the cheek, and Sansa could finally see the tears in her eyes. _Oh Jeyne,_ she thought as the girl left the room. It was hard to remember sometimes that she was a true friend.

She only had about ten minutes left to say goodbye, and Sansa had almost given up until the door opened again. Arya stepped through, her face grim and angry as she stared at her sister. Sansa couldn’t help herself. She ran over and pulled Arya into a hug, overwhelmed with relief.

“I didn’t want to come,” Arya’s muffled voice came from her shoulder. “I still hate you for this.”

“I know,” Sansa replied simply. They stood like that for a while, neither wanting to let go. It was Arya that eventually pulled herself away, and true to her nature, she immediately launched into advice.

“You have to try and win, okay? You can throw a knife, but get a bow – No, don’t look at me like that, you’re good okay? Probably better than half the other sods that are going to be there with you. No one needs a clean kill here, just stick them full of arrows and they’ll go down. People are much bigger than rabbits. Just think of it as hunting.”

“But it’s not hunting,” Sansa muttered. “The other kids… they think. They’re armed.”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“And do you! And besides, how many of them d’you think have any real practice? You’ve seen me kill enough times.”

“But they’re _people_ ,” Sansa whispered.

“How different can it be?” Arya said grimly. Sansa felt awful. If she could forget that they’re people, it will be no different at all.

“What if they don’t have a bow?”

Arya shrugged.

“Then make one.”

Sansa didn’t want to say anything, but surely Arya must realise how hard it is to make a bow? Even father had to scrap his own work at times.

“I don’t even know if there’ll be wood.”

“There will be, you moron. You’ve forgotten that year where half of them died because it was bloody freezing? Not much ‘fun’ watching that, is it?”

Sansa admitted to herself that Arya is probably right. She remembered watching the players freeze to death, tiny huddled balls in the dark. There were no torches, or wood for fire. It was considered very anticlimactic for King’s Landing, all those quiet deaths. Not enough blood and fighting. Since then, they’ve always had at least wood to make fire.

Arya continued to talk about different tactics, but all Sansa could hear were the footsteps coming towards the door. Her time was up. She quickly dragged Arya back into an embrace, and held her as hard as she could.

“Take care of our family, all right? Don’t let them starve, take care of yourself,” Sansa rambled in panic as the Peacekeepers filed in. Arya asked for more time, but they pulled her away.

“You win, you hear me?” Arya said, as they yank the two girls apart, “Otherwise I’m never speaking to you again!”

The door slamed shut, and Sansa couldn’t stop the tears this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happened which delayed this chapter, so this is a little shorter than I would've liked but I hope you guys still enjoy this! Not a lot of Jon this chapter, but he'll be showing up more definitely from now on.


	4. Lifeline

It was a short ride in a car from the Justice Building to the train station. Sansa had never ridden in a car before. There aren’t that many cars in the entirety of District 12. She and Jon stepped out into a crowd of cameras and reporters, who thankfully were kept back by two lines of Peacekeepers. Sansa caught a glimpse of her own face on the huge television screen on the wall and tried not to think about how weak and frail she looked, with her eyes still a little puffy from crying. She thought of Margaery Tyrell from District 7, the winner of the games a few years back. Her strategy was to appear weak and frightened, which meant that everyone overlooked her for a snivelling cowardly fool. And when there were only a handful of contestants left, she revealed her true colours. It turned out she could kill rather well. Perhaps that strategy would’ve worked for Sansa too, but she wasn’t as near as efficient at killing as the other girl. Her only hope is that no one bothered with her until it was too late.

It seemed however, that Jon Snow’s tactic was the complete opposite. Sansa had no idea who had said goodbye to him in the room, but he looked to be in an awful mood. He seemed to scowl at everything and everyone, and considering his broad shoulders and having built up strength by working in the bakery for years, he looked surprisingly intimidating. The cameras were allowed a few minutes to swallow up their images, and then they were shunted inside. The silence was welcome change.

The train began moving almost at once, and when the speed picked up and Sansa staggered a little. She thrust out a hand to balance herself, and suddenly warm hands gripped her arm, steadying her. She flushed when she glanced at Jon. His mood still seemed sour, although she couldn’t really blame him – they were on their way to their deaths. Still, he helped her right herself, and gave her a weary look.

“Let’s find our rooms,” he said before moving down the train. Sansa hesitated for a moment before following him. She moved slowly, still unused to the speed of the train, as she had never ridden one. And the high-speed King’s Landing models were designed to travel 250 miles per hour. They would reach the capitol in less than a day.

Somehow, the train was even fancier than the room she had been in the Justice Building. Myranda met them in the dining area, and led them their rooms, which were next to each other, each with a four poster bed, a dressing area, and even a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. Sansa knew that she had to use this as soon as she could.

Myranda had waved her hand around and described everything in detail, and after she motioned to the drawers and told Sansa to ‘pick out anything you want’. As soon as the pink wig disappeared through the door, Sansa immediately stripped off her mother’s blue dress and jumped into the shower. She had never had a shower before, and Sansa decided that it was possibly the most amazing feeling ever, like being caught in a warm summer rain. She dawdled as long as she could before stepping out and dressing in a dark green dress she found in the drawer.

At the last minute, she remembered her mother’s dress. She quickly scooped it up and folded it neatly at the edge of the bed when the circular pin that Jeyne had given her caught her eye. She paused, and finally took a good look at it. It was a bird, connected to the ring only by its wing tips. It was a mockingjay. A bird that was never meant to exist. She shook her head, unpinned the golden bird and tucked it into the pocket of her new dress.  It reminded her that she had people at home, and somehow that gave her a bit of hope.

Myranda came to collect her for supper, and the two head down the train through the narrow rocking corridor into a dining room. Sansa glanced around in awe at the polished wooden panels, the table laden with dishes and plates that all look incredibly breakable. Jon was already seated, the chair next to him empty. Sansa gingerly took the seat next to him, and adjusted her skirt. She wished he would say something. It was incredibly awkward and she had no idea how to even begin talking to him. Thankfully, Myranda Royce was more than happy to fill in the silence, and she chattered away happily as supper is served in courses.

“Where’s Jorah?” Myranda asked brightly as the soup was served, thick and chunky carrots stewed in a red sauce.

“He said he was sleeping,” Jon said gruffly.

“Well, it _has_ been an exhausting day,” Myranda said. Sansa could hear the relief in her voice at Jorah’s absence. Who could blame her? Jorah’s absence is soon forgotten however as Sansa tucked into the food. It was divine. The soup was an explosion of flavour, and after that the salad and lamb chops were served with mashed potatoes. Myranda Royce kept reminding them to save space because there was more to come, but Sansa couldn’t help herself. She had never had food like this, so good and so much, and judging by Jon’s face as well even he was blown away. _If I’m going to die soon, at least I’ll die after eating such amazing food_ , Sansa thought hazily as she took a large mouthful of a small yellow cake which tasted like lemons.

“Well I’m glad you two have decent table manners,” Myranda chimed as they were finishing off the main course. “The pair last year? Ate everything with their hands! Completely savage I tell you, it ruined my digestion for sure.”

Sansa could see out of the corner of her eye that Jon’s face grew angry. The pair last year were from the Seam, and they’d probably never had enough to eat, not a single day of their lives. Table manners were surely the last thing they were thinking about. Sansa watched as Jon pointed put down his cutlery and when the next course came, he began eating with his hands. Sansa hid a smile at Myranda’s expression, which soured even more when Jon proceeded to wipe his fingers on the tablecloth.

-

After the meal, Sansa and Jon headed to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Westeros. Sansa could feel the food that she had eaten fighting to come up again, and Jon looked a little green too. Neither of them ever had that much food to eat, but Sansa was determined to keep it down. She wasn’t going to throw up now.

So they sat silently, and one by one the other reapings were shown. Names were called, volunteers stepped forward (or more often, not), and Sansa stared at the faces of the kids that will be their competition. A few stood out. A boy with golden hair and a sneer on his face from District 2, a volunteer. A girl with red hair brighter than hers and so many freckles across her pug-like nose from District 5. A pair of siblings from District 4 who look quite formidable. And a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. Sansa couldn’t help but gasp at the huge scar that covered the side of her face. They watched as the girl walked onto the stage and when they ask for volunteers, all they could hear was the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. Sansa’s heart ached to see the scene. Was there no one who would take her place?  

And then of course, they should District 12. Arya being called, and Sansa watched herself run forward to volunteer. Watching it made it more surreal, as she was watching anyone but herself, someone that looked like her and her sister. She turned away her gaze and stared at the carpet, willing the broadcast to be over. She didn’t want to see Jon walking up there. She could still hear the show though, and there was a load groan from the commentators as Jorah falls off the stage. Soon after, the program ends.

“Well,” Myranda’s voice sniffed from behind them. “Your mentor certainly has a lot to learn about presentation. And more about televised behaviour!”

Jon laughed suddenly. “He was drunk,” he says. “He’s drunk every year.”

“Every day,” Sansa added with a small grin. It was amusing, since Myranda Royce made it sound like Jorah just needed a few tip to correct his ‘rough manners’. She must know his reputation in the district.

“Yes,” Myranda hissed, “How odd that you two find this display _amusing_. You know your mentor is going to be your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up sponsors, and dictates the presentation of gifts. Jorah is the difference between your life and death!”

Right on cue it seemed, Jorah staggered into the compartment.

“Did I miss supper?” he said in a slurred voice. Then he proceeded to vomit all over the carpet and fall into the mess. Sansa was aghast and moved away from the awful stench.

“So laugh away!” Myranda said smugly. She hopped around the pool of vomit in her pointy shoes and disappeared from the room.  Sansa glanced at Jon in dismay, and then at Jorah.

What were they supposed to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I haven't updated this in so long, I'm sorry! Can you guess who the tributes I've named are? :D


End file.
